#ventwriting

[floofster]

there are people who will arrive in your life at the right time to rock your world and set your expectations ablaze

there will be people who will arrive in your life at the worst time to shatter your hope and lower your self worth

there will be those who have never left your life who you wish would. there will be those who have left your life so long ago it feels like yesterday and five years.

noone knows anything ever

you're gonna be okay.

[prax-works]

[do not repost or claim as your own]

Also on insta - @1prax_works1

[bloodytorunesol]

hhhhhhhhhhhh mlm,,,

There's a boy who I love. 

He says he loves me too.

I can’t breathe when I talk to him.

But he’s the one gripping my lungs.

....

“There’s a boy that I love.

I know he loves me too.

He says he can’t breathe when he talks to me

But he’s the one holding his breath.

He doesn’t know how much I need him,

I wish he would stop.

I don’t want him to suffocate

My pretty boy, blue.”

[boredpastel]

Unnamed (Vent)

With wings and crown I curse this pain I’ve endured. Invisible scars cover skin head to toe. Scars that no one notices, the torture I have felt. I’m frustrated by my own silence, I scream inside my mind. Why can’t I speak up, what does it matter you won’t listen. You only prefer my silence yet know nothing of my pain.

I shatter the crown against the wall. Memories of Someone’s words flood my mind. I look at tear stained pages and toss their words away. All I hear are my own tears and your words of hate. I want to ask for help but I can’t. I throw away the parts of me everyone hates. My walls fall in silence, I am fractured and cracked.

I wanted death once yet cling to life. I live with the flaws no one likes and the scars you can’t see. I cut my hair trying to find myself. I got good at hiding my wings and broken crown. I don’t know what love is, tossed aside by people I trusted. I feel alone stranded by flightlessness. no one sees this pain, no one sees me. I want to reach out but feel trapped. Why won’t someone notice, teach me how to trust, how to fly with scarred wings. With wings, the broken crown, and invisible scars I suffer in silence. I am crushed under the darkness of the past. I wish tears would just wash away but my cheeks stay tear stained.

[So this is a bit of a vent, I’m not exactly all right at the moment. I’m sorry if this was upsetting but I just needed to write out how I felt. -Pastel]

[decadentbirdtyrant]

Inability

TW: Mental Illness, Depression, Bipolar Disorder, Death, Suicide, smoking, abuse, 

This is the first time I am writing directly on to Tumblr instead of Google Drive and then Copy/Paste to Tumblr. Not that it makes much of a difference.

It frustrates you. Your inability to do the normal things that everyone can do. It kills you inside makes you feel as though you can’t be a functioning adult. Just earlier you were sitting outside with the dogs, smoking like usual and your mind wandered to the chores you have yet to do inside. By “yet” you mean have been pushing off for awhile. Yesterday was a good day because you finally folded that laundry that has been sitting in the basket for two weeks and the laundry that has been left in the dryer for about a week. All because you were almost out of work socks and ran out of sleep shorts or loose boxers that you wear to bed. You can’t go back to wearing your boxer briefs to bed anymore they feel stifling. None of that really matters because you pushed through and you did it. Of course the newly clean clothes are now residing in the basket and dryer but this is a cycle that is bound to continue indefinitely. The day before that you had cleaned the bathroom and moved the dirty dishes from the sink and into the dish washer. They had been sitting there for a week but once they were gone it felt like you could breathe again. The bathroom hadn’t been really cleaned for probably almost a year but you never really let it get all that dirty. A couple weekends ago you finally cleaned the dining room of the boxes that had started to pile up. You went on a cleaning frenzy because you felt that you couldn’t breathe.

All of this looks good and sounds good on paper. It doesn’t negate that feeling of inadequacy. Like everything in your life it goes like tides. You can’t clean your house or take care of yourself until you can for one day. Today you almost cried because you couldn’t thinking. The issue was the litter box. It is always the issue and for some reason you can’t figure out the best method to clean it and the mess the cats have made on the floor in front of it. It makes you feel like you can’t breathe, you can’t do anything about it. Logically you know you can. You know you can clean it up like you do every other time but right now you just can’t. It just sits there and taunts you. A reminder that you can’t take care of yourself why would you think you can take care of your pets. It’s a spiral thought process that lead down very dark paths. If you can’t take care of your self, you can’t take care of your pets, if you can’t take care of your pets your pets will go without things that they need, if your pets go without their needs being filled then you are abusing them, if you are abusing them then you don’t deserve to have pets, if you don’t deserve to have them then you should surrender them, and if you surrender them then you’ll never see them again, and if you never see them again and they don’t need you and they aren’t around to comfort you then what do you have to live for? 

It’s an illogical spiral that makes assumptions that you know aren’t true. Your pets don’t go without they always have food and water and attention. Yeah there are some days you forget, there are stints you can’t clean the litter pan or are so wrapped up in whatever is going on you don’t realize how bad it has gotten, and yeah there are somedays that you just can’t have them around because they sounds and the needy form of love is too much for you and you have to hide yourself away in your own house. But you also can’t imagine life without them.

You always hear people discuss the spoon theory. It makes sense to a fault. The main fault is that you can’t wrap your head around certain intangible things. How many spoons do you get? How much is each task worth? You know it’s all relative but that doesn’t make the concept any easier to grasp. You’re an adult, with a full time job, a mortgage, a car payment, insert many more bills here not to mention more obligations. You’re an adult who has to feed themselves, bathe themselves, has pets to take care of, and lives alone. You can’t be rationing out imaginary spoons to decide what is worth doing because it isn’t a choice anymore it is necessity. So you do you do everything, all day, everyday you have no down time you have no relaxation and things start to fall by the wayside but what can you do? Sure you can deal out the spoons to the most important matters: work, bills, pets, food but even that can become too taxing. Dwindle it down then: work, bills, feed and water pets, frozen meals and skipped meals. On the worst of days you’re lucky to get even a bit of it done but the only thing insured to be on the list is work and boy would that take so many spoons. 

You like to let everyone think you are on top of things, when you can’t clean you don’t let people over, when you can’t do hygiene you don’t see people or wear a beanie and deodorant, etcetera. The worse thing you can think of is letting people know that you aren’t doing good, that you are hardly staying afloat, that you can hardly care for yourself let alone pets and a house. So in all your inability's your most detrimental inability is the inability to ask for help. You’d rather die than let others think you can’t do everything on your own. 

[kashimos-hajime]

ALSO unrelated but i mentioned some original writing a while back and rn im so overwhelmed with feelings for one of them his name is kingsley and i just love him so much help my emotionally constipated king i mean !!@!@@! 

“Kingsley, hold on. Hold on—it’s so much blood, oh, God, oh, God, Kingsley, you’re bleeding so badly. What did you do?”

“Decided to blow a building up,” he mumbled with an apathetic shrug. “Seemed like murder was the only good thing to add to an impressive resume.”

Sacha did not laugh. Kingsley wished he did. He wished he could hear it before he passed out. The world was edging black; it seemed comforting—still, he didn’t like that as much as he liked the sound of Sacha’s voice.

i have never seen a man more in love

[breitzbachbea]

"Do you think there is a place for us beside the deepest pits of hell?" Harry asked Michele.

"I don't know, but even the deepest pit of hell is a bearable place if I am by your side," Michele replied.

[sad-amateur-writer-blog]

It.

I feel like I’m drowning.. A darkness slowly creeping up from my toes. Crawling and inching its way up my legs , paralyzing me where I stand. It inky hands making its way up to my stomach, the sheer weight of it rendering me nauseated. Once it feels like it has a good hold of me, it seeps into my chest. Spreading into my lungs and hardening like cement, making it hard for me to breathe. It moves up my throat, threatening to make me puke ...but it stops. It sits patiently in my throat, not wanting to make the move into my face. It wants to make it seem as if I’m okay, allowing me to put on a brave face and smile for everyone around me. But its hunger isn’t satisfied. It wraps around my spine, moving up into my brain, corrupting my thoughts. The darkness overtakes my mind, consuming all my thoughts. It wants to be seen, it demands to be felt. It takes my vision, but only at night when I’m all alone. It twists the voices in my head and uses them against me, telling me I’m not good enough and that I don’t deserve to be alive. It takes full control of my body, rendering me helpless as I reach out for the blade. Tears begin to flow as I realize what’s about to happen. My body goes numb besides the sharp piercing feeling of the blade connecting with my skin, the red beginning to appear at the surface. I open my eyes and look down, not knowing how much damage has already been done. There’s more than one cut there.. A defined set of cuts lay before me, the blood already drying in some areas. The darkness wants me to hurt, however it’s still too scared to make the cuts very deep. It would rather cover my thigh in small , shallow slices that make it painful to walk rather than go deep and let the blood flow out and possibly leave evidence. This seems to be my nightly routine with darkness now. It waits for the stars to shine, to take away what little light I still have to cling to. It lulls me into a fitful sleep, taking over my dreams and turning them into panic inducing nightmares. When the sun rises the next morning , the darkness recedes back into the furthest part of my mind, allowing me to get through the day without alerting anyone that I’m falling apart inside. And just when I think I’m going to pull through this, the darkness rears its ugly head and reminds me that I am under its control. It causes me to miss a step, stumbling and bumping the fresh wounds on a sharp corner of a counter, reminding me that we have to complete our routine once more later that night. During the day , I keep it at bay, able to make a few mindful decisions to have someone take away the knives that the darkness uses against me. However, this just makes it angrier. It festers in the deepest part of my brain, tricking me into believing I had won this war against it, while it was coming up with even worse ways to punish me. Night time comes and it begins its routine, quicker than usual. The paralyzing feeling rushes over me, and the cement in my lungs causes me to gasp for air. But tonight...it knows it doesn’t have a weapon. It decides to take a different route than usual, its black tendrils wrapping tightly around my heart and squeezing so tight , hot tears fill my eyes. I lay back on my bed, trying to keep my breathing steady, telling myself that I will make it through tonight, but the darkness is only getting started. It slinks up my throat and , for once, doesn’t try to hide itself from my face. It takes over, making tears pour out of my eyes and makes screams form in the back of my throat. I try to call out, but the darkness has full control, it keeps my lips shut. My eyes continue to let out the tears, but they begin to grow hotter. The darkness is trying to come out, it wants to completely consume me, inside and out. The darkness begins to trickle down my skin, taking its form in the real world. The dark inky figure stands above me, laughing as it watches me try to cry out in terror. It leans close to me and I can feel the cold radiating off its body , making me shake even more. It laughs as it black tendrils take over my body, strapping me down to my bed, rendering me absolutely helpless to its powers. For the rest of the night, I stare into the void that is the darkness’ eyes as I realize that it has full control of me. This darkness has consumed me and I am now just another one of its victims.

[floofster]

silent

as I sit deadly still

I hear the voices in the hall get louder

and louder as they go down it

until suddenly there's a shouting match in the kitchen

I could go, could try to stop the verbal carnage of the usual saturday squabble

be present for the slamming door and shattering glass

but I stay here, silent

[prax-works]

[do not repost or claim as your own]

cw/tw: ed

Also on insta - @1prax_works1

[honorarydead]

cyberpunk chick

I have a way of softening the punches to my gut. “Of course” “it would have happened like this”, and so the pain sinks in. Deeper and deeper. My view on life darkens, and my sense of humor becomes a quiet hum, and I can no longer carry my voice. It buries itself deeper and deeper in my chest. I think about how to feel this pain. Why does it feel so good when my face gets bashed in, or when someone sinks their foot into my chest? Why is it when I hit the floor and can no longer breathe, I can't stop laughing. Why couldn’t they take it? Why does it hurt them when to me it feels like flying free. I can finally feel it again. 

[macismakingmistakes]

You once—

You once said you wouldn’t trade the moment we first held hands for the world.

You once said that cuddling up with me was a golden moment.

You once said that nothing else mattered as long as you had me.

You once argued with me about who was cuter, me or you, no one ever won those arguements.

You once said goodnight to me every night, and if you felt it was true, I love you too.

You once said that life was tough, but we would make it through it together.

You once said you believed in me, that I could get better.

You once held my hand and sat close to me, hugging me with every chance you could get because it made it feel like everything would be okay.

You once said I was an amazing person.

You lied to me once.

You lied to me twice.

You said we could be friends.

You lied to me three times.

You said I could still talk to you.

You lied to me a fourth time.

Am i a joke to you?

Why are you pushing me away?

Do you even want me to talk to you, put any effort into staying friends with you?

You lied to me a fifth time.

Goodbye.

~May 5th 11:50 pm

[decadentbirdtyrant]

Memories

TW: Mental Illness, PTSD, death, addiction, alcoholism, mentions of uncomfortable topics, bipolar disorder

This one was specifically hard to write, and it deals with very heavy topics

You struggle with memories. Sometimes it’s hard to pick out the good ones, and sometimes it’s all you can dwell on. There are times that you fantasize about the past. Those thoughts have the hazy golden glow of a sunset in summer. You remember yourself much more vibrantly, much more happy. The old you who used to be so witty and funny. The old you who didn’t feel the need to be quiet. You miss him. The old you was a much better person and a much better friend. It’s times like these that you dwell on the past. When the future feels so bleak and hopeless that's when the happy memories come out to haunt you. 

Those happy memories only come out when you are feeling down to make you feel even worse. The bad memories are always there. At the forefront of your brain. Whether you are upset and feel the need to make yourself feel worse or pull examples of how shitty you’ve been or how shitty life has treated you. The worst times are when you are genuinely feeling happy, when you feel good about yourself and those bad memories come to ruin any shred of self esteem you’ve worked so hard to build. 

There is rain sprinkling outside your window and it reminds you of a time long ago when your car was destroyed by hail and the windshield while still intact was cracked to hell. You still drove it like that for months. You didn’t have a job and had no money other than the little you could get from your dad. Mom never gave you any money. On the rainy days it was miserable at best in that car. The driver side window was gone and the rain freely came in splashing you in the face sometimes at such a high velocity that it would sting on impact. Though this is not a bad memory. Back then you had a friend, or rather a best friend. Something you are seriously lacking in anymore. You were inseparable. Saw each other everyday and told each other everything. They sat in the passenger seat on every adventure and were there the day that the cracks in the wind shield got so deep that the rain started to seep through and drip down onto the dash. They were the first person you drove to when your dad bought you a new car because yours was now considered too dangerous to drive. It’s them that you find yourself missing when those memories of the good times haunt you. But, with every incline comes a decline. Those good memories will often be shadowed with doubt, anger, and sadness. This one is no different. Once you start to think about them you are forced to think about the decline of your friendship and the resulting argument that ended it all. That leads down further rabbit holes of the arguments that ended other significant friendships in your life. Each one branching to the next slowly weaving a pattern to now. Where you sit at home alone, you have no one to message. No one to hang out with on your days off. You have pushed everyone away and for what? A sense of comfort in the fact no one can be close enough to hurt you? 

There is this song, a popular song that used to play on the radio when you were freshly graduated from high school. Every time you hear that song it takes you back to a much freer time. You can almost close your eyes and remember the smell of the outdoors while you sped past small forested areas, cow pastures, and fields of corn and soy. The highway swaying up and down and curving around hills following the land instead of bulldozing through it. Next to you a friend you have had since you were an infant. You had gotten so much closer in your senior year and you spent so much time with her you practically lived at her house. She was singing along to the song on the radio just like you were. You can feel the wind whipping through your hair sending it flying in loops every so often smacking you in the face. It’s why you always wore sunglasses to drive back then. That brings up the scent of Sonic, getting food from there and taking it to the lakes where you planned on spending all day swimming and just hanging out. These memories don’t devolve into worse ones, these ones just sting because they are so unattainable now. The freedom of the summer right after graduating high school is one that you can never get back, one you can never relive. It always lives there in your mind and you can visit it again but not without the sadness of knowing that you’ll never feel that free again. 

Finally there are the bad memories. They can be very simple. Remembering something dumb you did as a kid or a conversational faux pas. It’s the more complicated and traumatic ones that hit the hardest. They are the ones you don’t want to relive but your mind reminds you of them as what can only be a sick joke. They are the ones that no matter your mood, no matter the place, something small, hardly even connected can cause them to come back. 

Every time you are driving down a gravel road your hands clenched tight around the steering wheel, knuckles white from the force of your grip. Your heart beats hammering in your chest as you try to breathe calmly and slowly but every muscle in your body is tense and you’re beginning to sweat. With every turn or S curve you go through it’s like little snippets play in your head. The turns your stomach made as the vehicle started to spin out of control and the dread when every time you tried to fix it you just ended up over correcting and sending the vehicle barreling a different direction. The point where it tipped is where things get foggy. It was like it was moving in slow motion and that's how your brain makes you relive it. Feeling to slow shift as the wheels on the driver side lift off the ground and seeing the world start to turn outside the window until it's a blur of scenery that you can’t make heads or tails of. You don’t know if you are right side up, on your side, or upside down. At some point though it just cuts off. Maybe you closed your eyes, maybe you passed out but the next thing you can remember is being on your left side, head against the glass of the driver side window. Stunned silence until your mom says “Can anyone smell gas? We need to get out of here.” The feeling of being stuck not physically but too scared to move or really react at all. They never let you live that down. It gets brought up once every few family get togethers. That wound never heals because not only are you afraid of gravel roads and losing control of the vehicle you also get to carry the weight of what if it was worse? What if I had killed all the passengers in the car? How could I live with myself? How can I live with myself knowing that I have caused traumatic memories in my own family? That's the worst one, the one that has plagued you the longest. 

There is that feeling of never being able to find a partner because you can’t stand the touch of other people. You don’t like sleeping next to someone because you’re afraid of what they will do when you’re sleeping. There is fear in the actions themselves and there is fear in constantly being alone. You don’t like to think about this one and you don’t want to write it down.

Then there is the most recent one. You’re in your mid twenties, you should be having fun and drinking. Alcohol is fine and drinking is okay but there's this little thing in the back of your mind that screams at you and if you listen too long then you see her. Not the dolled up version that laid in the casket at her funeral, not the face you saw just a month ago at Christmas, no you see her in that hospital bed. Her face and skin an ashy blue and eyes open so wide, her mouth slack as a tube hangs out of it. Her son sits next to her, his eyes red from crying. He was the one that found her and called the ambulance. Not soon enough but who could blame him. Getting so drunk to the point of blacking out and vomiting was rather common for her. Though she had tried to quit drinking so many times she just never could stay away from the bottle. This time though she was laying in the wrong position maybe had taken prescription pills with a highly adverse reaction to alcohol depending on who you ask. She drowned, choking on her own vomit. That's what you see when you think of alcohol, that's what you see when your friends make their little jokes about being ‘alcoholics.’ You just see her face. 

Though those are terrible to remember and worse to relive. You think the worst things are the ones you don’t remember. You forget the good times with people who you no longer speak to. You forget the trips, you forget the gatherings, you forget the things that made life worth living back then. Just to remind yourself that anything good that happens now you’ll have forgotten in a few years from now. It’s hard now to remember the good things of the last few weeks. And when all you can remember are the bad times, the fights, the loss, the heartache. What really is there to look forward to. 

You know that sounds cynical and melodramatic, you also know that it is untrue, that there are a million good times ahead of you. You also know that you’re going to struggle to see through a fog this dense. You should probably take a lesson from this, that living in the past can only work to hurt you more than the present and future will ever hope to. Life doesn't happen in the ‘what ifs’ and the ‘back when’s’ it’s happening now and it’s passing you by.

[califournix]

Vent

This. This was why he swore to stay away. The pain— the gut wrenching, vomit inducing pain of heartbreak. The love of what once was demolished within a few words. “I’m done.” The words echoed by a once loved voice. No, a still loved voice. The way Michael’s tongue wrapped around syllables and consonants in his silly, silly accent. An accent that would whisper loved words and sweet nothings while tangled in sheets. The way his lips formed over the word ‘sunshine’, calling him that as if he truly believed such a reach. He was no sunshine. Sunshine was the last thing he’d use to describe himself.

He choked, the held up thickness of saliva in his mouth catching in his throat as another sob escaped. He was curled into the mess of sweaty blankets, Michael’s scent everywhere. That wonderfully musky smell, something that Tobias would find himself sneaking in after he’d leave the shower, his nose pressed to the crook of his lover’s neck. But that was another time. This was now. So many things seemed to happen in seconds. They never argued but.. that’s where it went wrong. Heated words, loud voices. It grew until it snapped, those same words echoing with a weight he couldn’t bring himself to push away. “I’m done.” Done? It could be so much. Done with you, with your personality, with your laughter and kisses and needy tendencies. Done. Gone. He had thought he had found love. That he had found something that people dreamt about; whispered longings to their best friends under forts of sheets and lights. It was all a facade though, wasn’t it? Every damn I love you. Followed with being... done. Done. It couldn’t leave his head. No matter how many times the brunette screamed into his pillow, clutched his arms, dug his nails into his palms. It didn’t change what was. Tobias was alone. He was alone, just as months before. This had been no different in ending, yet it seemed to hurt that much more.

So he lie there, empty. Broken. Done.

[3amcorners]

keep digging

I keep scratching, clawing at every bit of skin, picking away at every cell, bit by bit. Nails burying deep into the blood vessels, spilling red all over. Where is it? Where can it be? Where is that “good”? It’s not there.

I tear more. I rip. I shred. I tear it apart. I bury my hands into the organs of my being, grasping into everything so desperate to know where is that good in me.

People around me, they see theirs so easily, but I keep digging in me in search for the good to join them.

But nothing.

There is nothing. I dug straight through but I found nothing. Nothing in the ventricles of my organs or in the tendons of my bones. Nothing special floating through the capillaries.

But I tried to find something. My hands touching every bit of inside to search. But my bloodied hands came back empty.

Of course. I should’ve taken the hint. The hints were everywhere, but I failed… no, I chose to not see them. Because I thought there was more. That I might have been more.

Should have known my place... Disgusting.

[pearwolf]

manufactured beauty leads to manufactured feeling. this is no production, so e tú, bruté?